


No Wrong Notes

by n7chelle



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Artist Steve Rogers, Bucky plays piano, Inspired by Music, Kinda meet-cute, M/M, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-31
Updated: 2016-01-31
Packaged: 2018-05-17 10:41:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5866291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/n7chelle/pseuds/n7chelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky plays piano in a hotel lobby. Steve requests a song.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Wrong Notes

**Author's Note:**

> This was just gathering dust and I felt like sharing. 
> 
> [This is the song](https://youtu.be/pqdBbH_0zFI) that Bucky plays for Steve. Baines deserves more love!

It’s too damn hot to be wearing a suit since the heat is jacked up inside to compensate for the falling temperatures outside, but there were rules and standards and a dress code, so Bucky’s wearing a goddamn suit with a smile pasted on his sweaty face while he plinks out elevator music renditions of popular songs and old standbys just so the swanky patrons of this hotel can have something nice in the air as they saunter across the lobby.  
  
There’s a cheap wineglass on the corner of the piano, with a few folded up ones and fives, a few silver coins and some gold dollars mixed in. He does requests for tips because that’s what people like, to ask if he knows such and such song, and then not have the decency to stick around for the whole thing. If he’s lucky, they shove a bill in the glass. Sometimes it’s just pocket change, but most of the time, it’s nothing. There’s a quaint and cozy circle of lounge chairs just behind him though, and when someone does decide to wait and listen it creeps the fuck out of him, knowing they’re sitting there, probably staring at the sweat on the back of his neck, watching him play. And that’s exactly what happened that day, the day Bucky met Steve Rogers for the first time.

“Um, do you–do you take requests?”

Bucky suppressed a groan at the same question he heard approximately fifty thousand time a day, flipped on the charm, and turned on the bench intending to sweep up the wine glass and deliver the same line he always did in one smooth move. That was the plan, until he actually saw who was asking.

The guy lingering by the piano had to be something like a hundred pounds, and his tiny shoulders were loaded down with a pair of bulging, mismatched satchels. He was wearing a leather bomber with matted down fur that had clearly seen better days, scuffed black combat boots with not-quite-skinny jeans rolled and bunched up around the top instead of tucked inside, and a chunky cable knit scarf in navy that brushed the bottom rims of his thick-framed glasses. Behind those glasses were the prettiest pair of blue eyes–slightly magnified by the lenses, so Bucky could tell they were real instead of hipster imitations–and he had this adorable windblown mop of dirty blond hair flopping over half his forehead. In short, he was probably the cutest man Bucky had ever laid eyes on, and he was going to ruin it all by asking Bucky to play a stupid song.

Bucky realized he’d just been sitting there staring dumbly, a wine glass full of money held in one hand, when the guy shifted his bags and looked around awkwardly. Fuck. Now he looked like a complete idiot and a creeper. Get your shit together, Barnes.

“All the time,” Bucky managed, flashing what he hoped was a genuine smile instead of the charming mask he had to maintain in front guests. “Got something in mind, I take it?”

“Yeah, I–it’s a little obscure, I guess, so maybe you won’t know it…” There was something a bit heartbreakingly hopeful in the guy’s voice, and Bucky really hoped he did know the song, because the guy sounded like he needed to hear it for some reason. “It’s called ‘The Lone Wreck’,” he said finally, and wow, yeah, that wasn’t like Chopin or Beethoven. There were only a few recordings of it up on Youtube (like, three) and he remembered them all being terrible quality. “William Baines,” the guy adds, and Bucky can tell he’s already bracing himself for disappointment.

“Hey, pal, you’re in luck,” Bucky said. He cracked his knuckles for effect–thank god none of his professors were around to give him the stink-eye for the bad habit–and scooted back into place on the bench.

“Really?” the guy asked, like he couldn’t believe his luck.

“Absolutely, man. Have a seat.” Bucky waited until he could hear the guy was settled before he let his fingers hover over the keys. This wasn’t some stripped down pop song he was about to play; it was real music, and he wanted it to make sure he did it the justice it deserved.

William Baines hadn’t made much of an impact on the classical music scene, and he’d died in 1922 at just twenty-three. His compositions had generally been dismissed by the community, even ‘Tides’, the work this piece came from, which was considered his best work. Bucky didn’t think much of the second movement honestly, but the first one, the one this guy had asked for, was as beautifully, hauntingly melancholy as the name suggested. It certainly wasn’t the sort of thing one expected to hear in a hotel lobby on a bright fall afternoon, and Bucky might have fallen a little in love with the guy just for knowing it.

Bucky let himself sink into the notes, drawing out the pauses and keeping his fingers loose through the counter-rhythms and the quick, tight ornamentations. He could generally afford a few mistakes here and there, most guests wouldn’t even notice, but for once he took the performance seriously. There was a spotlight on his back; that cute little guy was watching and listening to him play something just for him.

As the last chord faded, Bucky blinked his eyes back open. It was a bit of a cliché, that musicians got caught up in their own playing, but a truth nonetheless. The lights dazzled him for a moment, and he sat blinking for a moment before he remembered his definitely date-worthy audience. Bucky twisted to look over his shoulder at him, but the chairs were empty.

Well, fuck. Great style, unbelievable taste in music, horrible manners. Of course there had to be something wrong with him, Bucky thought, slightly pissed off that he’d turned out to be no different from any other guest. He was so busy indulging in a moment of self-pity that he almost missed the loud, obtrusive sniff that echoed across the otherwise deserted lounge. Then he noticed the boots dangling over the edge of one of the chairs, the body attached to them hidden by the high arm of another chair in front of it. Bucky glanced around. He wasn’t technically supposed to leave the bench unless he was on a break, but there was no one around to tell.

Tiny, blonde, and cute had both hands thrown over his face, and it was pretty obvious he was crying. Bucky shuffled over, trying to make some noise on the plush carpet before he sat down on the neighboring chair.

“You, uh, you alright, buddy?” The guy still jumped when Bucky spoke, his hands freezing guiltily where they’d been scrubbing away underneath his glasses. After a moment he pulled them away completely and sat up, facing him. There was an adorable red flush all over his cheeks and nose, and he sort of caved in on himself, as if he could make himself smaller by will alone.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, swiping at one of his slightly swollen eyes with the back of his palm. His brow was furrowed in embarrassment, but there was a challenging tilt to his eyes, defensive, as if daring Bucky to make fun of him.

“No need to apologize,” Bucky assured him. “Sometimes music--it can have a strong affect on people, y'know?”

“Yeah.” He managed a watery little smile, and it was like a beam of sunshine punched through Bucky’s heart. He would do anything to see that smile again, day after day. And to do that, first he had to get this guy’s number.

“I’m Bucky,” he said, and stuck out his hand for the little guy to shake.

“Steve,” the guy answered, reaching out. His hand was big around Bucky’s, especially for someone his size. His palms felt warm and slightly calloused.

“Nice to meet you Steve. Y'think I could buy you a coffee sometime?”

“Oh, I…” Steve blinked owlishly, clearly caught by surprise. Hopefully not because he wasn’t interested in men, because that would just kill Bucky. “You’re serious?” And Bucky cautiously counted that as a yes, because Steve hadn’t yanked his hand back, and it didn’t sound like the offended disgust of a straight guy–more like he couldn’t believe the offer was actually genuine.

“Absolutely,” Bucky said, letting the corner of his mouth quirk up with what he knew was a dopey grin, but he couldn’t help himself when this guy was so damn cute.

“That would be…really nice actually. Sure. Yeah.”

After that, it was just a matter of setting up when and where. Steve was headed to work apparently, and he wouldn’t be off until near midnight, so coffee would have to wait for another day when their schedules lined up. Between classes and jobs–Bucky rotated between three different hotels and Steve trekked all over the city for freelance work–it took some doing to find a time when they were both free.

Bucky just hoped Steve thought he was worth the wait, because every minute they spent talking just tugged harder at the hook in his chest–the certainty thrumming from his heart down to his bones that there was something special this guy–that told him he couldn’t let Steve just disappear without trying to get to know him better.

**Author's Note:**

> You can flail with me about Steve and Bucky (and anything else) on [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/ch3ru)!


End file.
